


Every me loves every you

by defractum (nyargles)



Series: Tumblr Fic & Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:03:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/defractum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anthology of short fic and prompt fills. See individual chapter for tags/warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Photographer Grantaire fic

**Author's Note:**

> To see a complete list of work, click on the Chapter Index, which should show you what AU each fic is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** [Image Prompt (SFW)](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpp31j9lN01r0q2iwo1_500.gif)
> 
> Warnings: anxiety issues

Grantaire is not a creep. He absolutely has permission from Enjolras to do this.

Well.

Enjolras knows he’s a photographer. That’s almost as good, right?

The guilt is crawling up Grantaire slowly and he’s sure that in a few short minutes time, he’ll be physically nauseous from the shame but it doesn’t stop him from actually _doing_ what he’s doing. His camera’s vintage – in that it’s really fucking old and used to belong to his grandfather and he’s never had enough money to buy a new one, as opposed to the romantic idea of vintage – and it only works when it feels like it. He taps it against his palm a few times in frustration, hoping that the loose clacking from whatever part has fallen loose inside doesn’t wake Enjolras up.

It’s the first time that Enjolras has stayed over, the first time that they’ve slept together in the most literal sense, and Grantaire had imagined the morning after going a multitude of ways, the best being that he woke up and Enjolras was still there, and the worst being that he woke up and Enjolras was still there and wished that he wasn’t.

The flash goes off accidentally, which is a good sign in terms of camera behaviour and a bad sign concerning Enjolras because he twitches and rolls his head toward the light. Grantaire freezes for a second as if he won’t still be _right there_ perched on a chair at the end of the bed if Enjolras opens his eyes now, and then shakes himself, and readies the shot instead.

Grantaire is the kind of person who turns up in the back of profile pictures with red demonic shiny eyes and his mouth open and his hair all over the place, probably halfway through pulling his hoodie off. Enjolras, on the other hand, is ridiculously photogenic and manages to look like a male model doing a couture spread when he’s asleep for fucks’ sake.

He takes three more photos, inching progressively closer each time, and these are good photos; he’s fairly certain he can use at least two in his next multimedia project, the one Enjolras won’t be able to make the showing of, which is perfect. He’s about to take a fourth when a voice interrupts him:

"Are you done yet?"

Grantaire screams and leaps about a foot in the air and manages to throw the camera straight up into the air and then fumble, resulting in him juggling it for a few terrifying seconds before he manages to catch it. “Holy shit,” he breathes, clutching the camera to his chest and staring, wide-eyed, at Enjolras, who opens his eyes without looking the slightest bit sleepy.

"You can take some more," says Enjolras as if he hasn’t just scared Grantaire half to death, "but my neck’s starting to hurt, so I’d like to move it first."

"Oh," says Grantaire weakly. "No, no, I’m – I’m fine, thanks."

Enjolras stretches out like a cat and Grantaire can’t quite manage to hide the way he blatantly watches him as the sheet drops lower and his muscles flex.

"Do you know what’s better than a photo?" asks Enjolras, flopping back against the pillow.

"No?" says Grantaire nervously, fiddling with the camera and wishing Enjolras will stop talking so he can run away to the bathroom and hyperventilate for a bit. He can feel his stomach threatening to dry heave already.

Enjolras pats the bed next to him. “Touching it for yourself.”

Grantaire stares.

"Oh for goodness’ sakes, Grantaire, do I have to spell it out?" Enjolras rolls his eyes impatiently, and pulls the covers back. "Come here."

Grantaire hesitantly slides himself back into bed, and Enjolras curls his arms around him. “Urgh, you’re cold,” he mutters, nuzzling his warm cheek against Grantaire’s neck, plucking the camera out of his hands and setting it on the bedside table. “Genius scatter-brained photographer time later. Boyfriend time now.”


	2. Proposal fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "I found this last night. Is it yours?"

Grantaire looks down at the empty box, and tries not to hyperventilate. The ring is gone.

He’s been carrying it around for almost a month, trying to find a good time to ask Enjolras, which means he could have lost it practically anywhere. It could be at the Musain or at a club, it could be at Jehan’s place or their place or Grantaire’s art studio or - Grantaire has to sit down and sink his head into his hands.

The front door clicks open, and Grantaire scrabbles to tuck the empty box away before Enjolras can see it, his heart pounding as he manages to shove it under a cushion just before Enjolras steps into view. “Hey,” Grantaire says weakly. “How was work?”

"Aaarrrrgh," replies Enjolras, his mind clearly still in the office. "Bureaucracy." He flops over onto the couch, Grantaire wide-eyed as he lands right on top of the cushion with the ring box. Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice anything though, and instead rubs his temples with his fingers.

"Still getting polite dismissals from the Senator?" asks Grantaire sympathetically, pulling Enjolras into his lap as he prepares for a shoulder massage.

"Of course." Enjolras sighs, and sinks into Grantaire’s touch. "Oh, I just remembered. I found this last night. Is it yours?" He tugs something out from his pocket and shows Grantaire. It’s a gleaming ring.

Grantaire’s heart does the most terrifying thing where it simultaneously stutters to a halt at the idea of Enjolras being the one to find the ring, and yet bursts with relief because it’s not  _lost_. “Enjolras, I-” Grantaire looks closer. It’s… it’s  _not_  the same ring. “I - no. It’s not,” he says, sounding strangled, because that was far too many emotions to go through in too short a space of time.

"Are you sure?" asks Enjolras with a frown. "I found it in our room. It looks like it should be yours." He takes Grantaire’s left hand in his and  _slides the ring onto his fourth finger_.

Grantaire stares down at his hand for a very long time.

"Grantaire?" says Enjolras quietly, and Grantaire realises that he’s been slowly crushing Enjolras’ fingers. "Say yes?"

Grantaire can’t help it. He breaks down into hysterical laughter which turns into hysterical tears and at some point he presses his face into Enjolras’ curls and wraps his arms around his shoulders and clutches him as if he will never let go.

Enjolras holds him back until Grantaire subsides into occasional wheezing. “R? Is that a yes?”

"Yes," says Grantaire past the lump in his throat. " _Yes_  oh fucking hell Enjolras. I was going to propose to you, you know, I had the ring and everything, and then I kind of lost the ring, I should really find it because that was bloody expensive but - um. Yes.”

"I know," says Enjolras, turning around so that he’s facing Grantaire. 

"What," says Grantaire.

Enjolras blushes, and entwines his fingers with Grantaire’s, which pulls his hand up - Grantaire pauses to stare at the unfamiliar silver band around his finger, and his stomach lurches. Enjolras presses a kiss to it. “It was terribly selfish of me, but I wanted to be the one to propose, so I, er, stole yours.” He digs around in his  _other_  pocket and, oh, there’s the ring Grantaire bought.

"What," says Grantaire again.

Enjolras slides the ring on. “You can propose to me now though, if you want.”

"You’re an arse," says Grantaire faintly, very much distracted by the metal glinting off Enjolras’ finger and not entirely sure if he’s dreaming. "I can’t believe you did that; I nearly had a heart attack thinking I’d lost it, you know. I’m divorcing you, right now."

Enjolras has the audacity to laugh, and press a kiss to Grantaire’s forehead. “Will you marry me again, afterwards?”

Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras and pulls him close, pressing his face into the curve of Enjolras’ neck and hiding his tiny, growing smile. “Yeah, probably.”

 

 


	3. Surprise family addition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** eyelid kiss 
> 
> In celebration of the Spielbachs getting their [ridiculously cute puppy](http://opti-pessimistic.tumblr.com/post/87753990527/to-summarize-what-has-happened-within-the-past-48).

"No peeking," says Grantaire.

"I’m not," says Enjolras, who blatantly is, the lying liar.

"Enjolras," says Grantaire, exasperated. "Do I have to blindfold you?"

"No," says Enjolras reluctantly. "Because I’m not peeking." He is, however, sulking. He’s been burning up with curiosity since Grantaire had texted him earlier, telling him that he was using his spare key to get into Enjolras’s flat and set up a surprise for him. Grantaire had met him downstairs and had insisted to leading him to his door as he kept his eyes closed, even though there was nothing to see outside the flat, and Enjolras is just inherently  _bad_  at trusting people when he’s not in full control of his senses. Especially up stairs.

Grantaire stops after the second (and last) flight of stairs, which Enjolras has had particular trouble not peeking up even though his body  _knows_  how many stairs there are and he never looks down even when he has his eyes open. It’s just the uncertainty of it that annoys him. “Enjolras,” says Grantaire, and Enjolras can hear the smile in his voice. He leans forward to press soft kisses on each of Enjolras’s eyelids. “Thank you for humouring me.”

Immediately, Enjolras feels bad, because he’s been rather bad at it. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles, fclamping his eyes shut properly, suddenly determined not to peek again untl Grantaire says he can look.

It’s not too long after that; Grantaire opens the door and Enjolras shuffles in obediently after him and Grantaire places him in the middle of the living room before letting go of his hand. “Now?” asks Enjolras. No reply. “Grantaire?”

"Yeah, now," says Grantaire, voice suddenly coming from behind him.

Enjolras opens his eyes and the first thing that he notices is that everything… looks the same. No, wait. Most things do – there’s an armchair that’s been moved a bit, a bookshelf that’s been moved to make space, and some of his cushions are on the floor. “Grantaire, what –”

Turning around to look at Grantaire in confusion, Enjolras blinks. “That’s a dog,” he says.

"Yep."

"It’s… really small. And cute. It – Is this the dog we saw the other day in the pet shop?"

Grantaire grins. “Yep. Congratulations, you’re a father.”

 


	4. Accidentally stayed the night AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** accidentally stayed the night AU.   
>  Morning afters and misunderstandings.

It’s just sex.

It’s what Enjolras thinks, anyway. It’s never been just sex with Grantaire, but he’ll take what he can get, and what he can get are glimpses of an Enjolras who wants him. So, it’s sex and painful amounts of staring at Enjolras as he throws his head back and tells Grantaire that he’s amazing, he’s fantastic, he’s perfect.

And then ten minutes after that, Enjolras will get dressed and mutter about a meeting he has to prepare for, or Grantaire will pull his clothes on and excuse himself before Enjolras can kick him out. Except for this time.

This time, Grantaire wakes up in a bed that’s not his, and this is something that’s stopped happening since this thing with Enjolras started two months ago. His face is half falling off the pillow and he’s got fucking dried come all over him because he’d fucking passed out after sex last night,  _ _ holy shit  _ _ who even does that? Also, Enjolras is curled around him and clinging with all four limbs, and when Grantaire tries to pry him off, he bleats like a baby goat and Grantaire has a little bit of a heart attack and has to lie back down.

He tries again, ten minutes later. There’s another round of pathetic bleating and some bonus nuzzling of Enjolras’s face into Grantaire’s neck and Grantaire’s heart cannot take so much cuteness.

By the time Enjolras actually wakes up half an hour later, Grantaire’s tried to escape once more and was thwarted by cute sleeping Enjolras; he has given in to his fate, and is enjoying the soft, warm heat of Enjolras’s body against his instead. Enjolras mutters a little, and snuggles into Grantaire’s chest. “Morning.”

“Morning,” says Grantaire cautiously.

“Glad I finally got you to stay,” says Enjolras, yawning.

Grantaire blinks up at the ceiling. It’s a boring ceiling, and he mentally apologises to Enjolras for making him look at it for so long last night. “What?”

“You’re always running away. S’nice you stayed,” says Enjolras, propping his chin on Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire thinks back to the several rounds of very vigorous sex they’d had.

“Did you… trick me into passing out after sex?” asks Grantaire slowly.

“Yes,” says Enjolras proudly.

Grantaire’s heartbeat speeds up, and there’s no way Enjolras hasn’t noticed given he’s leaning right over Grantaire’s heart but he pretends it isn’t happening anyway. “So… you wanted me to stay over?”

“ Yeah,” says Enjolras. “And you never do.” He’s pouting. Oh god, Grantaire can’t deal with morning Enjolras. Morning Enjolras has fluffy bedhead and likes cuddles and  _ _ pouts _ _ .

“You never stay over at mine,” says Grantaire instead.

Enjolras finally seems to realise that they’re having two different conversations, and sits up. “I said I had a meeting to prepare for.”

“You say that every time!”

Enjolras gapes at him. “I have a lot of meetings, Grantaire. You know that!”

Grantaire cracks first. His worldview’s been suddenly shifted and everything is kind of sliding sideways like the fucking melting clocks and he eventually realises that it’s all sliding  _ _ into place _ _ . “Oh my god, I’ve been a colossal idiot,” he says. “I thought this was just sex.”

“Oh. I see.” Enjolras frowns at him, and Grantaire can see his eyes shutter, see him packing away his vulnerabilities, the things he lets Grantaire and no one else see and Grantaire reaches across the bed and catches his hands.

“No, I mean – I mean, I misunderstood. I thought you thought this was just sex. It’s not just sex for me. It’s never been just sex for me.”

“Oh,” says Enjolras cautiously.

“I thought you didn’t want to stay over. I thought – well, I’ll stay over whenever you want. Like I said, I’m an idiot,” he says, pressing soft kisses to the back of Enjolras’s hands, and it’s like seeing a sunflower bloom in front of his eyes.

“ No, you’re not,” says Enjolras, immediately defensive. And then he adds, “But yes, you are. A bit.” He flops back over onto the bed. “Why are you making me think about things in the morning,” he groans. “Shut up and cuddle me. We have lots of cuddling to catch up on.” That, Grantaire can do.

 


	5. Enjolras in leather trousers

“Why,” says Joly, standing next to Enjolras. “Just, why?”

“My jeans are in the wash,” says Enjolras. “And these are all I have otherwise.”

“You only own two pairs of trousers,” says Joly in disbelief, “and one of them is leather?”

“Erm,” says Enjolras. “Yes?”

Grantaire’s ears prick up and he looks over with vague interest not expecting too much; his bottle of beer slips out of his hand. He definitely wasn’t expecting Enjolras to be standing up at the front of the room, wearing the tightest pair of leather trousers known to man. He’s not even sure how anyone could get into those without getting slicked up.

“Grantaire,” snaps Eponine, snatching his bottle away and shoving a handful of napkins at him. Oh, right. Spilled beer. He blinks, and gurgles at her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she concedes. “They look quite good on him.”

Grantaire makes a pained noise as Enjolras starts walking towards their usual tables, towards  _him_  and the leather pulls across Enjolras’s thigh muscles. He’s not really aware that his mouth is open and he’s gaping a little until Eponine sticks a finger under his jaw and clicks it shut. God, Grantaire can feel himself going red already.

The worst thing is that Enjolras looks so entirely at ease. He looks comfortable and natural like he wears these  _all the time_.

“Help,” he whispers, and accidentally puts his hand down in the puddle of beer and wet napkins. Eponine laughs at him, and does nothing at all.

Enjolras stops in front of Grantaire, his fingers trailing across the table until they stop, just short of the sticky mess.

“Hey, Enjolras,” says Grantaire faintly. He’s fairly sure he meant to put more words after that, but his brain has deserted him.

Enjolras looks at him, dabs his tongue across his lip almost as if he’s nervous. He fidgets for a moment; settles his weight on one hip, and that just makes Grantaire watch the way his hip juts out. “Tell me about it… stud.”

It takes a moment.

“No  _way,_ ” breathes Grantaire in awe.


	6. Ballet Dancer au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** leaping into the other’s arms

"Break a leg," says Grantaire, and Enjolras is trying to figure out if he’s being funny when the music starts.

Then, there’s no time to think. The chorus flit out onto stage past Enjolras, and four bars later, he’s on too. The music fills his body, seeping down to soak into his bones. It engulfs his skin and vibrates up through the floorboards into his feet, and he is  _alive._

The ballet is almost two hours long and Enjolras is on stage for almost all of it, and there is significantly more pointework than he would like. Traditionally, male ballet dancers don’t go up onto pointe, but with the all male production, they’ve decided to deliberately keep some of the pointework that went to principal dancer. Currently, that’s Enjolras.

And, see, the reason he thought that Grantaire might be making a joke is because Grantaire is playing principal romantic attraction. They’re lovers, and… well. There are quite a lot of lifts.

For the finale, Enjolras does a stunning piece of choreography that culminates in a triple pirouette on a tiny piece of raised staging barely a hand’s width wide, and then leaps off it. They’ve done this in rehearsal hundreds of times, but there’s always a swooping feeling in Enjolras’s stomach. If Grantaire doesn’t catch him, he is literally going to break a fucking leg.

But Grantaire does. Grantaire springs across the stage and literally snatches him out of midair to cradle him possessively with perfect timing, and Enjolras plasters his body limply against the front of Grantaire’s broad chest.

They’re both exhausted, there’s a slick of sweat beading at Grantaire’s temples and his eyes are wide with admiration.”Fucking amazing,” murmurs Grantaire quietly enough no one else will have heard; Enjolras gasps when Grantaire dips him down and kisses him full on the mouth, his hands a searing heat on Enjolras’s back.

Well, that hadn’t been in rehearsal.


	7. Massage fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Grantaire discovers that that Enjolras gives the / _very best_ / backrubs

"What?" Grantaire staring at him like Enjolras has shaved all of his hair off. He hasn’t though, so it’s a bit of an over-reaction, really.

"Would you like a back-rub?" Enjolras repeats.

Grantaire’s been complaining about his exercise-related bruises and sore muscles, and it really does look worse than the various scrapes he gets into. He was limping when he walked in, and he’s been twisting this way and that in an effort to stretch his muscles all evening.

"I – sure, if you’re offering," says Grantaire cautiously, and sort of half crawls and half rolls himself sideways across the carpet in a manner that can’t possibly be comfortable, but is apparently less painful than standing up and sitting back down again.

Enjolras just likes having something to do with his hands.

In lectures, he writes reams of notes, not because he won’t remember the information, but because if his hands aren’t kept busy then they’ll do other things, like shred the sides of his paper or tap out rhythms to annoy his fellow students. He plays with his pen when he listens, and woe betide anyone who thinks that means he isn’t paying attention – he does it so he  _can_  pay attention – and he gestures when he talks.

And when they have TV night and Grantaire’s finding it hard to sit still in the same position for too long because everything is pulling on everything else, he gives back rubs. He’s pretty good at it.

Grantaire’s shoulders are distressingly tense (and rather nicely muscled, not that Enjolras is taking note of these things), and he hunches up at the first few tentative circles Enjolras tries. Right. Time to break out the kneading. Unofficial break over, Marius flips the lights back out and everyone settles in. The opening credits roll over the next episode of the show they’re marathoning, and Enjolras puts his back into… well, Grantaire’s back.

Grantaire hisses, and Enjolras thinks for a moment that he’s dug in too hard, but then Grantaire is leaning back into Enjolras’s hands. “Wow.”

"Is this okay?" asks Enjolras.

"Yeah, just keep doing that," says Grantaire, lolling his head to the side, where it just about rests against Enjolras’s knee.

And so, Enjolras does.

After a while, he can feel Grantaire’s low hum vibrating up into his hands, even if the TV covers the sound up. What the loud TV doesn’t cover is when Enjolras digs his fingers into a particularly bad knot at the base of his neck and Grantaire lets out the loudest, most obscene groan he’s heard in his _life_.

"Oo _ooooohh_.”

Courfeyrac looks over at them in alarm. “R, what –”

"Don’t stop," says Grantaire, probably since Enjolras has frozen in alarm. "Fuck, Enjolras, _right there_.”

Enjolras starts up again, aware that his face is probably entirely red, and is very glad that the lights are off.

"Oh,  _yeah_ , just like that,” groans Grantaire, nuzzling his face against the side of Enjolras’s thigh as Enjolras digs knuckles into the hollows beside his shoulderblades. Enjolras squirms slightly, though his leg certainly doesn’t end up  _further_ from Grantaire after he does so. “Don’t stop, don’t stop–”

"Do you two need a room?" asks Courfeyrac loudly enough that everyone else’s stopped watching and starting looking at them instead now.

"We have a room," says Grantaire. "We’re using it. Holy crap this is the best thing ever, you need to feel this. I’d say Enjolras should show you now, but he’s doing me and I don’t want to give him up so you’ll just have to find out later."

"You do realise you sound like–"

"Don’t care," says Grantaire promptly. "Feels too good."

Enjolras hides his smile and rewards him by massaging up the tendons in his neck, careful not to press too hard, and Grantaire shudders deliciously.

"This is better than sex," murmurs Grantaire into Enjolras’s knee.

"How would you know?" asks Enjolras. He means it to sound suave or witty or – _something_  but it mostly comes out in a blind rush. “You’ve never had sex with  _me_.”

Grantaire freezes under Enjolras’s hands, a tense departure from how pliant his muscles were a mere moment ago. “You mean to say it’s better than _this_?” asks Grantaire, forcibly injecting far too much amusement into his voice for anyone to remotely believe he’s being casual.

"I wouldn’t know," says Enjolras, leaning forward enough so that the others can’t hear. His nose brushes against Grantaire’s curls. "I’ve never had sex with myself. You’ll just have to do it for me and tell me how it compares." He digs the balls of his thumbs back into Grantaire’s shoulders, somewhat smug as Grantaire does nothing more than blink in stunned silence.

They resume, pretending reasonably well that it was just another round of banter, but if Enjolras nuzzles Grantaire’s hair a little bit longer than would be strictly platonic; and if Grantaire curls a hand around Enjolras’s foot, tucking his thumb up under the hem of Enjolras’s jeans to rub small, soft circles across his ankle – well, no one else need know.


	8. Orchestra violinists au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** sit next to each other in orchestra AU

“Sit up straight,” hisses Enjolras.

Grantaire’s eyebrows rise so high they disappear under his mop of hair. “Really? Are we five?”

“I don’t know how you can play like that,” mutters Enjolras. The conductor is busy doing something with the cellos that involves bow work that really should have been done when they were sectioned off but hey, that’s cellos for you. Grantaire is slouched so low in his chair that he’s basically lying down on it with his butt hanging off the seat, not that Enjolras is noticing his butt or where it is.

Grantaire somehow manages to raise his head enough to wedge his violin in between his chin and the flat of his chest. When he talks, the violin wobbles up and down. “Don’t you ever practice in bed?”

“What? No,” says Enjolras, sounding pained. “How is that — no. Why would you do that?” Enjolras hasn’t ever had a desk partner like Grantaire. Two weeks ago, their third outside desk, Enjolras’s partner, fucked off to play in a chamber orchestra and whilst Enjolras had hoped that he’d get moved to outside desk and Grantaire would be promoted from fourth outside to third inside, he had stayed where he was, and Grantaire had instead just been bumped up from fourth outside to third outside.

In short, Grantaire technically, very technically, outranks him now.

“Ah, let me guess. You always practice standing up, back straight with perfect soloist posture,” says Grantaire with amusement. Grantaire is a brilliant soloist, visibly enthusiastic and dramatic in a way that Enjolras never quite understood. Enjolras would be perfectly happy if no one ever asked him to fucking _sway_ ever again. (Enjolras didn’t say that there wasn’t a good reason Grantaire outranked him now.)

“I sit down. After a couple of hours,” says Enjolras stiffly. Good posture is important, even if he rarely performs standing up these days.

Grantaire snickers under his breath. “Well we can’t all be as hard working as you. I like to think of it as an exercise in flexibility.”

“What?”

“Practising in bed. Just me, in my underwear—”

“What.”

“—sometimes not even that, lounging around with my violin…”

“ _Why_ are you telling me this,” says Enjolras, determinedly ignoring the way his face is heating up by pretending to study the sheet music. He’s had it memorised for over a month.

“I think it makes me more flexible,” says Grantaire, and Enjolras chokes, loudly enough that the cellos all glare over at him. It’s all right; basically everyone hates first violins anyway.

“Oh my god, _what_ ,” he whispers furiously once they’ve all looked away again.

“At playing the violin,” says Grantaire airily, clapping a hand onto his knee. “You know, practising playing in any position, under any circumstance. You should try it. It might get rid of that stick up your arse when you do a solo.”

“I do not have a stick up my arse!” says Enjolras, trying to move his leg so Grantaire isn’t touching him. It’s hard when he’s hemmed in by violins on all sides.

“You really do,” says Grantaire, doing something with his fingers — oh, he’s playing the fingering for The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba on Enjolras’s thigh, and it’s a little silly how Enjolras can recognise that just from looking at the light drumming of fingers against his leg. “Or, I guess, I can put one there if you don’t. If you want.”

Enjolras sees red. He’s not entirely sure if it’s rage, or the mental image of Grantaire naked with just his violin in his bed that’s been seeping steadily into Enjolras’s brain for the last two minutes, but he sticks his foot into the back of Grantaire’s knee and _pushes_ just hard enough for Grantaire to finally slip off the end of his chair and go crashing to the floor. His chair slides backwards into fourth desk’s knees; their music stand and sheet music go flying; Grantaire looks stunned but his violin really is still safely clamped under his chin so when the entire orchestra stares at them, Enjolras really only has one thing to say.

“Sorry. Grantaire was just showing me how flexible he is.”


	9. Royalty and commoner au

“How have you never done this before?” asks Grantaire, laughing as he steals kisses out of Enjolras’s ripe, luscious mouth.

He’s wanted to do this for weeks, ever since he found Enjolras lying by the riverbank, half delirious from some of the more unpalatable berries in the wood. He was confused and soaked through and even after the fever had passed he hadn’t known where he was.

“We can’t all be such desirable rakes,” says Enjolras breathlessly, and his teasing is somewhat marred by the little pants that ghost across Grantaire’s cheek and the way his fingers cling to Grantaire’s bare biceps.

Grantaire laughs again, slides a hand down Enjolras’s taut stomach and unlaces his trousers with one quick tug, making Enjolras arch up at the hips to meet him with a gasp. “I think you’re being very modest if you think yourself undesirable.”

Enjolras bites his lips as he lowers his eyes to watch Grantaire ease a hand down his trousers. They’re technically Grantaire’s trousers so they’re oversized on Enjolras, and slide sliding down his slim hips as Grantaire wraps a hand around his cock.

Grantaire, on the other hand, just watches Enjolras. He sees the edge of a tooth slice into his kiss-plumped lips, sees the bob of his throat when he swallows and the way his eyelashes flutter when Grantaire rubs his thumb over his slit, just there.

“Grantaire,” says Enjolras thickly, hips stuttering forward uncertainly and Grantaire presses soft kisses up from his neck and across his jaw in response.

“Is it too much?”

“No. No, keep going,” says Enjolras, batting uselessly at the way the trousers tangle around his knees until Grantaire peels them off him completely. His legs are long and coltish with lean muscle and Grantaire cannot help but nibble his way up from Enjolras’ knees, delighting in how Enjolras squirms.

“You flatter me,” says Grantaire as he works his hand up and down the length of Enjolras’s cock, now hard and already leaking. “Tis but my hand.”

“Tis more than your hand.”

Grantaire looks up, startled, when the words slip out of Enjolras’s mouth, and Enjolras reddens, a beautiful pink flush that spreads from his ears all the way down his neck, but he carries on determinedly.

“It’s your – your shoulders,” says Enjolras, pressing his lips to the smooth curve of Grantaire’s shoulder, then moving up to his face. “And your jaw. Your tongue. Your eyes, your lips, your smile.” And Grantaire feels himself smile at the words; he is so very much smittenand he cannot even deny it.

Suddenly, Enjolras’s voice drops until it’s almost a husky purr, such a contrast to his sweet, innocent face. “And – your arms. Your stomach. Your –” Enjolras stops, but only because he bites his lip momentarily. Before Grantaire can fill in the blank, Enjolras slides down and takes Grantaire into his mouth.

“ _ Oh _ ,” breathes Grantaire.

Enjolras is sloppy, inexperienced; there are a few moments where Grantaire’s breath hitches from the light scrape of teeth. But his determination is beauty to behold. Arousal pools in Grantaire’s belly as he stares down and strokes his fingers through Enjolras’s tumble of hair and he almost forgets himself.

“Wait!” Grantaire has to pull Enjolras off by the hair. “Wait, Enjolras, stop.” He drags Enjolras back up the bed and kisses the taste of himself out of Enjolras’s mouth. “I shan’t last if you keep going,” he murmurs, even as his body aches at the loss.

“I don’t mind,” says Enjolras, confused.

Grantaire brushes a curl out of his face. “But I do. If you make me come now, I won’t be able to pleasure you the way I want to.” Enjolras blushes. Unbelievable. He’s literally just had Grantaire’s cock inside his mouth, rubbing his tongue against it, and still the idea makes him blush. “And I do,” says Grantaire, half forgetting his words and just drunk on the feeling of Enjolras’s skin, bare against his, “want to pleasure you.”

And so he does. He holds Enjolras close to him, feels the groans that rumble through his body and the shivers that tremor along his skin. Grantaire is greedy, and he drinks in the screams that Enjolras spills into his mouth and arches into the lines Enjolras claws along his back. He’s glad his house is on the edge of the village.

He feels the tautness in Enjolras’s spine grow until his body grants him release and kisses him as he folds himself into Grantaire’s arms, loose and pliant and affectionate.

Enjolras is sticky and sleepy and Grantaire tucks him in against his chest. “Will that be all, Your Majesty?”

The change is immediate. Enjolras’s entire body stiffens, and he makes to sit up.  “You  _ knew _ ?”

“Enjolras,” says Grantaire, and then snorts. He wrestles Enjolras back down onto the mattress, firmly cuddling him until Enjolras at least resembles lying down, even if he is terrified and tense in Grantaire’s arms. “Enjolras, your face is literally on every coin that I own. Of course I knew.”

“Oh,” says Enjolras, and Grantaire can see him blinking rapidly up at the ceiling.

“This doesn’t change anything,” says Grantaire.

It takes Enjolras a very long moment to believe him; Grantaire can tell he’s turning that statement over and over in his mind, trying to fathom the hidden meaning behind it. He breathes a sigh of relief when Enjolras reaches for his hand and pulls it back around his waist, when he settles back against Grantaire’s chest and presses a kiss across his knuckles. “No,” he says. “It doesn’t.”

 


	10. Sex toy shopping Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Oooh gosh could you do exr with #14 of your prompts (in a sex shop AU)?!!?

Enjolras seriously regrets asking the rugged man behind the counter for help.

For one thing, talking to anyone at all about sex toys is awkward enough. Talking to a guy who comes alive when he talks, gesturing animatedly with his hands and glancing sideways and smiling at Enjolras to make sure he’s still following and slowing down when he isn’t—well, that’s a problem of a different kind.

Enjolras treats sex a bit like he treats food: something to take part in to stop his body moaning at him. So all he really wants is something easy to take care of his physical needs, except now the shop guy, Grantaire, is showing him a plethora of options, and his body is getting unnecessarily perky thinking about it. He probably shouldn’t have waited this long.

“What, exactly, is a fleshlight?” asks Enjolras, looking down at the fat tube of pinky fleshy silicone. It jiggles as Grantaire picks up the sample one.

Grantaire shows him the little hole in the front of it. “Essentially a fake portable vagina?”

Enjolras coughs. “Hmm. Oh. Well.” He wrinkles his nose and tries not to make a face. “No vaginas please. Fake, portable or otherwise.”

Laughing, Grantaire picks up a different one. “Well, this one is shaped like an anus inside?”

Enjolras stares at it. “It… does not look more appealing.”

When Grantaire sets it down, it jiggles some more. “Well, your other options for penetrating are a sex doll,” he says, gesturing to the frankly terrifying doll in the corner, “or a real person though we can’t help you with that in here.” That, at least, makes Enjolras smile.

“Here, we have the buttplugs and the dildos.” There are a couple lying around as samples, and Grantaire picks them up, talking about flexibility and durability and Enjolras mostly tunes him out and instead stares at his hands stroking up and down the dildos.

“Well, whichever one you’d recommend for a beginner,” says Enjolras, licking his lip absently, because that’s socially acceptable and drooling isn’t.

Grantaire squints at him a bit. “Like, a  _beginner_  beginner, or a beginner?”

“What?” Enjolras blinks at him, definitely not noticing the absent way Grantaire rolls the dildo around in his palms.

“Sorry,” says Grantaire, “I mean – are you a beginner to using a dildo, or a beginner to anal sex completely?”

“Oh,” says Enjolras, who’s never been shy about sharing this fact. “The second one. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” says Grantaire, grabbing one he’d talked about off the wall. “I can definitely show you how it’s done—” He freezes, realising what he’s said and stutters to a halt and to Enjolras’s surprise, he blushes. Enjolras does a mental fistpump. “I mean. We have books? Out the front? And leaflets with websites on, and things.”

“And things,” says Enjolras in amusement.

“And things,” says Grantaire sheepishly like he’s forgotten his lines.

Enjolras plucks the dildo out of Grantaire’s hands. “I’ve got to say,” he says slowly, turning it over in his hands, “I’m still pretty confused.” He looks up from under his eyelashes, and grins slightly. “If you  _did_  want to show me how it’s done, I’d be grateful for any help.”


	11. Sex toy shopping Part 2

**Four days later:**

 

“So, let me give you the tour,” says Grantaire.

Enjolras thinks that was supposed to come out suave, but Grantaire has his hands jammed into his pocket and blotchy sort of blush across his face, so it’s more –  _cute_  than anything else. He grins and shuts the door. “I’m going to assume that you’re not just inviting me in for coffee,” he says, running with it.

Grantaire laughs. “Er, yeah, no. The coffee here is awful. We mostly go to the cafe across the street if we’re desperate on our breaks. There’s been the same bag of powdered creamer in the drawer since I started.”

“ _Powdered_ _creamer_ ,” says Enjolras, and makes the appropriate shudder.

The sex shop Grantaire works at is significantly less mysterious-slash-creepy when the pink “romantic” LEDs dotted around the place are off, and it’s just the normal ceiling lights. Grantaire rounds the counter, and flips the sign to CLOSED.

“Sorry, got to do the closing checks,” says Grantaire apologetically, like Enjolras isn’t the one here ten minutes early, anticipatory and jittery and relieved to see Grantaire grin at him when he sidled in through the door as the last customer walked out.

“Don’t worry,” says Enjolras. “I’m sure I can amuse myself.”

“I’m sure you can. Solo masturbation toys are to your right and down the aisle,” says Grantaire cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows, and Enjolras blushes. That’s something he can do when they’re texting and making innuendo back and forth, as they have been for the last few days, but Grantaire isn’t around to see him putting his hands to his face in embarrassment when it’s just the phone, and he’s standing in front of Grantaire right now. Grantaire is grinning at him like the cat that got the cream, or possibly other… milky substances…

Oh, God. Enjolras is reasonably sure he could fry an egg off his neck right now.

“Shut up,” mumbles Enjolras, and hurriedly walks away. It’s only when he starts slowing down that he realises he’d actually taken Grantaire’s directions, and is staring at a wall of toys labelled with such names as  _Virgin Pussy Masturbator_ and  _Ultra-realistic Ass Fleshlight._

Enjolras blanches; he about-turns, and marches back up to Grantaire, who’s polishing down the counter. “I think you directed me to the wrong section,” he says, heart hammering in his chest. He can’t quite believe what words his brain thinks are a good idea right now.

“Oh?” Grantaire’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

Enjolras exhales it all in one breath. “I don’t really intend on doing anything solo tonight.”

Grantaire pauses. “Is that right?” he asks, drawling his words out, long and low in a way that makes Enjolras’s stomach clench. He tries to discreetly lean on the counter, which turns out to be further away than he thought it was, and stumbles against it instead.

“I mean – only if you want to,” says Enjolras, feeling a bit silly at his attempts at flirting when Grantaire is obviously so much better at it.

Grantaire reaches out just enough to slide one knuckle across the side of Enjolras’s hand. One, simple movement that’s not even that sexy should not be having such an effect on Enjolras’s jeans, and he wriggles, pulling at his waistband. “Tell you what. I’ve been working here a while. I know the products pretty well. Why don’t I give you some, hmm, _personal_ recommendations, and you can go find them whilst I finish up here?”

“Yeah,” squeaks Enjolras. He coughs, clears his throat. “Yeah. I’ll go do that.”


	12. Postman au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** mailman and person who receives a lot of mail AU

Enjolras doesn’t technically need a new exercise bike.

But then, he hadn’t technically needed the new desk, television or set of 12 pots and pans either. It’s just that his flat is on the third floor in a building with no lift.

Previously, Enjolras had ordered, say, two or three books, and they were always books he needed or wanted, but the point of ordering them at the same time were so that they would come in a package too big to fit in the tiny post slot downstairs.

That meant his postman would have to come up the stairs to hand them to him, and Enjolras would get to stare surreptitiously at him as he fiddled with the post tracker thing for all of ten seconds before handing the package over with a cheerful, “Have a good day!”

But then Enjolras  _had_  needed a new bookcase to put all these books he was ordering in bulk on, and his postman had been nice enough to lug that all the way up the stairs too, instead of buzzing him at the bottom and just letting him know. That had been on a hot, sunny day and by the time the guy had got there, he’d rolled his sleeves up to reveal  _biceps_ , covered in a slick sheen of sweat.

It’s not like Enjolras didn’t know the guy had biceps, he. just. He’d almost dropped his flatpack bookcase on his foot, is what he had almost done. 

So yeah. Now, Enjolras is in possession of a new desk, tv, and 12 pots and pans he’s probably not going to use given he cooks everything in exactly one saucepan and one frying pan. Oh, and of course, the exercise bike. “This is my daily exercise quota right here,” huffs the postman as he waits for Enjolras to sign for it. 

Enjolras is not so enamoured that he doesn’t feel guilty for making the guy traipse up three flights of stairs carrying a heavy parcel (but clearly also not guilty enough he’s stopped doing it…), so he offers, “You could always just buzz me at the bottom and leave it.”

"Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to see you every day," says the guy, flexing out his arms. Enjolras gapes, as the guy grins at him, waves and walks off.

It takes him all of half an agonising minute to decide what to do, frozen in his doorway, and by the time Enjolras has pulled his shoes on, grabbed his keys and raced after the postie, he’s almost out of the building. “Wait,” blurts out Enjolras, skidding to a halt as the postie turns around and looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “You know, if you wanted a different kind of daily exercise…?”


	13. Dragon Enjolras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** How about a dragon!enjolras for a 3 sentence fic, please?

“What do you even need a cat for when you’ve got me?” asks Enjolras sulkily, blowing a puff of smoke at aforementioned cat; he’s trying to curl up on his nest of cushions but said cat has decided to sleep in the sun-warmed centre of it, the spot Enjolras had been saving for  _himself_ , and now he has to tuck himself in on the cooller edges of the nest instead.

Grantaire is trying not to laugh at him, which makes Enjolras all the grumpier, and strokes the end of Enjolras’s tail soothingly with one foot as he says, “Mittens is fluffy and cuddly; you’re not very cuddly.”

“I’m cuddy!” protests Enjolras, rearing up out of the cushions so furiously that he dislodges the cat, which attempts to claw him and mostly ends up filing its nails against Enjolras’s scales and then defiantly plants itself back in the middle of the sunshine, which is fine because Enjolras lumbers over to Grantaire and flops over on him instead, just to prove that he is the  _cuddliest_. 


	14. airline pilots au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** I'd really like an Airline AU. I don't care whether they're both pilots or flight attendants, I'd leave that up to you. (A lot of pining and a little smut would be nice, though.)

“Stop stealing my food,” says Enjolras, gripping the control column with more force than is strictly necessary, especially since the weather is calm and their route is plotted into the computer; they barely have to do anything to fly the plane.

“Your risotto’s nicer,” says Grantaire, with a mouthful of it.

“Everyone’s palette is non-existent at thirty thousand feet,” says Enjolras. “You are physically, literally incapable of telling what tastes better.”

Grantaire twirls his spaghetti, and inhales most of it before Enjolras can attempt to steal some back just to make a point. “Yes, but your risotto tastes good, and my spaghetti also tastes good. And so, I want to try both.”

“You know the point of giving us separate meals is so that we don’t both get food poisoning?” says Enjolras, wondering if it would be stupid to ask for a third meal. Heaven knows the cabin crew are used to bizarre requests from the two of them.

“So, don’t have any of my food,” says Grantaire in one of those reasonable voices that Enjolras hates, because it makes him sound like he’s being too strict, too uptight. He’s not. It’s just – work is work, and he likes to be professional here no matter what they do in their off time.

“It might be the  _risotto_  that gives us food poisoning,” says Enjolras through gritted teeth.

"Sucks to be us then,” says Grantaire, and eats his chocolate brownie with his fingers, licking his fingers off by sticking them in his mouth and pulling them out with an obscene popping noise. Grantaire’s eyes slide sideways and he smiles slyly at Enjolras and Enjolras knows that he does, because he’s been staring. Been  _caught_  staring, now. He flushes, which is stupid. He’s allowed to look at his own boyfriend if he wants to.

“Alright, your turn.” Grantaire shifts forward in his seat, and takes over – Enjolras pries his fingers off the control column, and looks down woefully at his half-eaten dinner. He’d been looking forward to food.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” says Grantaire, batting his eyes and fishing a tube of pringles and some chocolate croissants out of his flight bag instead. Enjolras sighs. It takes more than he would like to admit that it was more the batting of the eyes that makes him let it go rather than the offering of slightly squashed chocolate croissants.

–

“We can’t get liquids on the controls,” says Enjolras, when Grantaire suggests losing the condoms. “FAA safety regulations state – Oh fuck, Grantaire,  _yes_.”

Grantaire, whose idea of making it up to Enjolras is a blowjob, is kneeling between his legs and has been sucking Enjolras off for the last ten minutes. He pulls his head back; Enjolras’s cock pops out of his mouth with a wet sound. “I don’t think there’s very much about the filthy cabin sex we’ve been having the FAA safety regulations  _would_  approve of,” he says, licking his lips and leaving Enjolras very much on the edge.

Enjolras squirms, and Grantaire runs the tip of his tongue up the underside of Enjolras’s cock. “Just – you know what I mean,” he says, wishing Grantaire would go back to what he was doing.

"Do I?” asks Grantaire idly, mouthing at the tip of Enjolras’s cock until he whimpers, hips stuttering. “How will I know unless you say it?”

Enjolras’s face flushes as he struggles to find words. Damn it, Grantaire  _knows_  he has trouble being coherent during sex. “I just – I just. Stop  _teasing_ me,” he groans, trying to move away from Grantaire’s wicked mouth. There’s not really much he can do when he’s trying to fly a plane though.

“I’m not teasing you,” says Grantaire. “ _This_  is teasing you.” He rubs his stubble against the soft, warm skin of Enjolras’s inner thigh. Enjolras makes this pathetic little gurgle – it’s not even remotely sexy but Grantaire doesn’t seem to care and Enjolras honestly doesn’t have enough presence of mind to care, so gurgling it is.

"Stop,” says Enjolras, “Grantaire, please.”

Grantaire pouts against his thigh and Enjolras takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather his thoughts. “You’ll be the death of me,” he says weakly, wishing nothing more that they were on ground, in a bed or something where Enjolras could curl up against Grantaire, and not thirty-five thousand miles up in the air, flying over Russia, having a quickie.

Grantaire nudges a fingertip at the edge of the condom, and Enjolras groans. “Grantaire, no, c’mon, it just makes sense here –”

“I’ll just swallow it all,” says Grantaire, and Enjolras’s fairly sure he’s burst a blood vessel given how quickly his face goes red. Grantaire nuzzles at Enjolras’s thigh, the tip of his nose slightly cooler than the rest of him and he looks up pleadingly at Enjolras and seriously, Enjolras can’t  _deal_  with this.

 _No one_  is equipped to deal with flying an aeroplane and having a hot boyfriend with puppy dog eyes promising to suck him off and swallow him down. “Okay,” he says thickly. “But – you’ve, you’ve got to –”

“I’ll be so good,” says Grantaire, his voice husky like somehow Enjolras is the one doing anything for him. “I’ll be so good for you, you’ll see.” He rolls the condom off and Enjolras chokes as Grantaire slides all the way down. It takes effort, serious conscious effort as Grantaire goes at it with the enthusiasm of a porn star for Enjolras to keep his voice down – they’d nearly brought one of the cabin crew in once, least sexy thing ever – and he fists his hands in Grantaire’s curls instead, pressing his face into his hand to muffle himself.

Grantaire is vicious and rough and Enjolras loves it. He seriously  _hopes_  ATC didn’t try and call them, or that nothing flew across their way because he kind of blanks out everything but Grantaire for a few minutes, his orgasm rising until he comes – into Grantaire’s mouth.

And Grantaire does as promised. He swallows every last drop until Enjolras is wrung out, shivering slightly. Grantaire licks his lips and grins up at him. “Death of me,” says Enjolras weakly, reaching out to stroke Grantaire’s cheek as Grantaire tucks him back into his trousers.

Grantaire stretches his back out, grunting in satisfaction when a couple of vertabrae click back into place, and falling into his seat. “Mmmm,” he says, switching control to his steering column.

“My turn?” asks Enjolras, reaching out to take care of the bulge in Grantaire’s trousers.

“Nah,” says Grantaire, and bats him away. Enjolras frowns.

Grantaire looks at him, amused and smug, so Enjolras knows he’s not feeling slighted, but – “Come on, Enjolras,” says Grantaire, fondly, “You’re always a bit useless after sex.”

“‘M not,” says Enjolras, though he knows it belies his words when he can’t even manage full words.

Grantaire stifles a laugh. “Yeah, you are. Go on, just flop back for a bit and enjoy the afterglow.” He leans over and brushes a kiss against Enjolras’s cheek. “I know I slack off a bit, but we do have to have  _one_  functional pilot up in here.”

Enjolras scowls at him, more out of habit than because he actually disagrees. “How’m I supposed to enjoy the afterglow if you’re all the way over  _there_?” he asks, indicating the full  _foot_  between their chairs. It’s practically a chasm.

Grantaire laughs at him, the bloody cheek. “Well, come over here then, you silly noodle.” He has no business calling Enjolras a silly noodle, except for the bit where he is being a bit silly, and Grantaire has more or less reduced him to feeling rather noodley. He pouts anyway, and clambers onto Grantaire’s lap.

“Worth getting half your food stolen?” asks Grantaire quietly into Enjolras’s ear as Enjolras wafts around in a post-orgasmic haze.

“Wasn’t even that good a risotto,” says Enjolras, curling up against Grantaire’s chest as Grantaire hums, and keeps them in the air. “This was much better.”


	15. Trading Pokemon on Game Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** How about Grantaire who finds his ancient game boy plus Pokemon blue edition and Enjolras who still has his red one?

The lime green Game Boy Color clunks to the floor, narrowly missing Grantaire’s foot, and he blinks. Huh. He hadn’t expected to find that in the bread bin. He’s not even sure why he has a bread bin.

Then again, he’s moved house several times in the last few years, and this is the first place big enough that he’s actually unpacking the boxes he’d packed up, instead of stuffing them under the bed, so his memory is rather hazy as to what is stored where.

“Please pick that up before one of us steps on it,” calls Joly from across the room, probably counting down to the moment before one of them gets a moving-house related injury. It’s bound to happen somehow, with heavy boxes and sharp furniture edges and too many people everywhere.

“Pokemon Blue,” says Enjolras with nostalgic delight, picking it up from between his feet so Grantaire doesn’t have to put down the box he’s hauling.

“Good times,” says Grantaire, who has fond memories of his tiny pixelated Pokemon. “It annoys me so much I can’t get a Growlithe on Blue though. They’re so cute. And Arcanine’s are awesome. And no one else plays anymore, so I can’t get anyone to trade me one these days.” He pouts.

“I still play my Red version occasionally,” says Enjolras, and that is how they get entirely distracted from moving Grantaire’s things and instead start browsing eBay on Grantaire’s computer, first just Grantaire in the single chair they’ve brought in so far and then Enjolras joining him, leaning in too close over his shoulder to see as they click through listings for link cables.

“What the hell,” says Courfeyrac indignantly as he, Combeferre and Feuilly manoeuvre a sofa in around the doorway, taking to pause for breath and glare at them before opening his mouth again and bellowing delightedly, “PIVOT!”

Combeferre and Feuilly’s faces suggest that he’s been doing this up the entire flight of stairs.

“We’re just taking a break!” says Grantaire hurriedly leaning back from the computer like they haven’t been huddled over it; Enjolras is slower to move, which means that Grantaire more or less thunks his head back into Enjolras’ chest. His heart leaps into his mouth, but Enjolras doesn’t move away.

“That one’s cheap,” is all he says, pointing to the screen.

Grantaire squints at it, because he left his reading glasses in his bedroom, and says, “That’s because it’s entirely rusted over. Honestly, does anyone buy things in such terrible condition?”

“It’s listed as working,” says Enjolras, scrolling down, and cradling Grantaire in the circle of his arms as he does so. “Let’s get that. I want a Ninetails.”

The sofa goes down in the corner, and Courfeyrac straightens his back, vertebrae clicking as he does so. “Is this Pokemon?”

“Yeah, the original versions,” says Grantaire apologetically. He can’t really get up even if he wanted to right now, because Enjolras has his head practically propped on his shoulder. “I just found my Game Boy Color when it fell out of one of the boxes and we got to reminiscing. Sorry, guys. Thanks for the sofa.”

Courfeyrac frowns. “You know I have Blue, Enjolras. I asked you if you wanted to trade last time you were doing a playthrough.”

Enjolras’ head whips round so quickly Grantaire has to flinch back to avoid hair whipping across his eye. He shifts uncomfortably, because it’s clear that Enjolras’ face is doing _something_ , but he can’t tell what. “I don’t want  _your_  Ninetails,” Enjolras says eventually, slowly, through clenched teeth, like Courf’s being exceptionally dense.

Grantaire blinks.

Courfeyrac’s face transforms into one of absolute glee. “Oh.  _Ohhhhhh_ , I get it. Bonding over Pokemon, eh?”

“Oh my God,” blurts out Grantaire, because he’s quick on the uptake okay, and he’s worked out exactly,  _exactly_  what Courfeyrac’s going to say next, and makes a distressed little gurgle in the back of his throat. From the way the side of Enjolras’s face – all he can see from this angle – is completely red, it looks like he’s figured it out too.

Courfeyrac waggles his eyebrows. “You only want some hot foxy action from  _Grantaire,_ do you?”


	16. trivia board game night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** exr: trivia night/ trivia duel

“Cranium is not a trivia board game,” hisses Enjolras, for possibly the fourth time that evening. 

Grantaire pets his hair in amusement. “There, there.” He’s just rolled the dice onto a green, which means it’s some form of guessing game, and Enjolras hates the guessing games almost as much as he hates when he’s handed a lump of play-doh for Sculpturades.

“This is  _trivia board game_  night,” grumbles Enjolras. They take their various game nights very seriously. Marius had once brought Ticket to Ride to card game night, and hasn’t quite forgotten the trauma since.

"There’s trivia involved, and it’s a board game,” says Courfeyrac cheerfully, handing Grantaire a green card. “Ergo, it’s a trivia board game.”

“Oh, Enjolras should know this one,” says Grantaire, glancing at it.

“Don’t say that,” says Enjolras with a groan. “Now I’m guaranteed not to get it.”

He’s got thirty seconds to guess the name of the famous person Grantaire is going to mime. Except then, Grantaire just sticks his tongue in his cheek, and pumps his fist up and down a few times in a crude approximation of a blow job.

Grantaire literally  _sees_  the flood of blood into Enjolras’s cheeks as he goes entirely scarlet and everyone looks on in interest.

“Hugh Jackman,” Enjolras mutters, looking like he wants to sink straight through the floor. Guessed in five seconds flat, oh yeah.

“Correct,” says Courfeyrac. “Right. You know, I would have associated Hugh Jackman more with pretend claws or something.” It’s a question, without actually  _being_  a question.

“We were talking in bed last week,” says Grantaire, and Enjolras rolls over from where he’s sitting to try and put a hand over Grantaire’s mouth, but Grantaire grabs his wrist, and wriggles away. “About hot men? And hypothetically, who we would - mmmph!”

He stops, mostly because in a desperate attempt to shut him up, Enjolras straddles Grantaire’s thighs and sticks his tongue in his mouth. 


End file.
